Of Mice and Men
by Ms. Anthrop
Summary: Minerva McGonagall is in a killing mood. Join her for an evening full of dirty limericks, dead bodies and the inappropriate use of brooms. It's probably a good thing the students have departed for the summer hols.


_**A/N- Another wee ficlet for the ****Fanfiction Tournaments Competition. It's loosely based on part of a story told in Chapter 32 of 'Hallelujah', but can easily be read as a stand-alone story.  
**_

_**I wanted to write something that did not contain death or torture; I've only halfway succeeded.**_

_**Un-beta'd, written on a mobile. 'Love Shack' blaring on repeat. **_

* * *

_**1 July 1989**_

The Library was positively littered with mangled corpses, and the sight of all those little, defenceless bodies brought the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts a great and lingering satisfaction. Minerva would deny it if directly pressed, but the simple truth was that she enjoyed the kill.

The world would slide into black and white, and her whole body would go wonderfully, peacefully still as her vision narrowed to the space directly around her target. She would patiently lurk in the shadows, mind parsing through the best avenues of attack, and once decided, she would strike. Truly, she never got tired of the sheer physical rush that came from leaping out of the darkness, nor the split second of horror on their faces when a victim realized that death had come for them. Most of all, Minerva McGonagall relished the metallic, heated scent of blood, and their sharp little screams as they shuddered and died.

Mind you, she didn't give in often to her baser urges; she did have a reputation to maintain...

But Albus had been driving her spare as of late, trying to pull the barmy old wizard act on her, which could only mean that he was up to no good, and the Ministry of Magic had passed several new, ridiculous certification requirements that made finding supply teachers damn near impossible… and then, naturally, there was the usual end-of-term stressors- grades, exam marking, inventories…

Little wonder she wanted to kill things. Loads of things, really.

Thank Merlin, the children were finally gone, and Irma had provided her with excuse that she needed. The poor woman had been quite distraught by the destruction of a priceless eighteenth century tapestry. As Deputy Headmistress, it was her job to defend the Castle from all foes… and defend it she would.

The darkness in front of her rippled, and Minerva moved, the velvet of her paws ghosting over the cold flagstones. In this case, defending the Castle meant dispatching the hordes of mice that had unwisely decided to make the library home. There were spells, of course. But why resort to magic when brute force and cunning would easily suffice?

From one of the Art History stacks, she sighted another flicker of movement; as her gaze locked on, she observed that it was rat this time, not just a mouse.

_A worthy opponent_, she thought, whiskers twitching with anticipation_. I shall call you Albus… _

Deciding to box the hapless rodent into a reading nook, she angled forward. When she had fully blocked the exit, Minerva deliberately allowed her claws to click on flooring.

The rat froze, eyes going wide.

KILL! Killkillkill…..

* * *

Three hours later, Minerva was rather more relaxed. The bodies had all been properly disposed of by the house-elves, and she was accordingly looking forward to curling up in front of a roaring fire with some cat balm. She was just starting up the Grand Staircase when a whistling noise started issuing from the Great Hall; with an irritated flick of her tail, she increased her speed, recognizing the harbinger quite easily.

Peeves.

Alas, the poltergeist must have seen her, and changed course in mid-air. "Here, kitty, kitty…" he called in his most nauseating tones. "…come see what surprise Peeves has for you!"

For a brief moment, Minerva contemplated transforming back into her human form and dealing the maddening menace with the sharp end of her wand, but decided against it. Changing would ruin her good mood, for one thing, and she had a fair amount of blood on her paws and stomach; she did not want appear to being playing the part of Lady Macbeth should she chance upon anyone else in the halls.

_That bloody, blasted creature! Perpetual Contract or no, I will make him pay… _

She was almost at the top of the stair when she made her mistake: she forgot about the sticking-step. Had she been in human form, it would have been second nature to jump over the obstacle. Moreover, had she been paying attention in her present form, rather than plotting a spot of revenge, she might have sensed it.

But she did neither of those things. The instant her front paws slapped the surface of the stair, she felt it solidify like a permanent sticking charm. Even more unfortunately, her forward momentum was great enough that it hurled her arse- or rather, tail- over teakettle, the length of her back striking the edge of the stair with a sickening crack.

The world went dark for the space of several heartbeats, and as her breath wheezed painfully from her body, Minerva became aware that she'd not just wretched her back, but both of her shoulders as well.

And then she gave a furious, sputtering yowl as Peeves upended a bucket of frigid lake water on her.

Forgetting that her paws were firmly encased the charm on the step, she lunged upward, hissing and spitting. She was furious enough that sparks flew from her claws; apparently the battle light in her eyes was enough to make Peeves reconsider any further action.

"Oh, but you'll have to catch me first, kitty!" Twirling around her in tight, taunting circles, he cackled with unholy glee. "Pity the poor little kitty-witty is stuck…" Blowing a series of wet raspberries, he zoomed away, clapping his stubby hands in delight.

Utter silence- not mention the chill of a Scottish summer night- descended on the stair, followed closely by a wave of humiliation. For Minerva would not be able to free herself from the clutches of the step without the magical assistance of another. And should she transformed out of her feline form to call for help, her hands would remain as paws, which would take an inordinate amount of time to fix, and she'd have to make explanations…

_Perfect. I suppose I should be grateful that there are no students around to witness my predicament… _

With a shuddering, miserable sigh, she curled up into the closest approximation of a ball that she could manage and waited to be found.

* * *

The chime for half-past four had just sounded when she finally heard an almighty racket coming down the main hall. The sounds were mostly comprised of singing, or at least a drunken attempt at doing so, and Minerva recognized the two billowing, wavering voices: Filius and Rolanda.

The two reprobates had a bit of tradition. At the end of spring term, they would organize a staff lock-in at the Three Broomsticks and sponsor a contest for the worst- or rather, naughtiest- limericks. Filius, bless his dirty little heart, had a genuine, scholar's enjoyment for the verses, going so far as to write any number of papers tracing the etymology of some of the more popular rhymes. Rolanda, on the hand, simply enjoyed being shamelessly vulgar.

_Well,_ Minvera thought, _with any luck, the pair of them won't remember finding me come the morning…_

But as the Charms Professor and the Flying Instructor stumbled closer, Minerva's sensitive nose picked up on far more than the scent of alcohol on the air.

_If I didn't know better… _

And then she saw them, and saw what all they weren't wearing, and understood what the other noises accompanying them were…

_Oh, Merlin's saggy ballsack, is Filius completely naked? And is Rolanda sticking that broom handle where I think she is…? _

Quickly, lest that horrid imagery be burnt onto her eyes for the rest of time evermore, Minerva squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on being very, very quiet.

Once again, events did not go her away. Whilst the canoodling couple did not see her, they did decide to use the bottom section of the stairs as method of eliminating any height advantage Rolanda had... and she was treated to the sloppily sounds of drunken fornication. Complete with limericks.

"There once was a man from Ealing…" warbled Filius, "…Who pounded his pud with great feeling…"

Minerva did not open her eyes, instead focusing all of her attention on reciting complex transfiguration tables.

"And then like a trout, he'd stick his mouth out, and wait for the drops from the ceiling…"

* * *

Several minutes later, a third person joined them in the hallway. It was the scent of herbs and Muggle tobacco that gave the man away, and with relief she looked up and met the sardonic smirk of Severus Snape.

As if on cue, Filius started singing and the Potions Master's attention was drawn downward. The look of dawning horror as he took in the on-going adventures below them almost made her own predicament worth it; Minerva could not recall a time when she had ever seen Severus as shocked as he was in that moment.

With a muttered oath, he snatched her free of the enchantment, and hastily made for the Teacher's Wing.

"I believe," he murmured, his voice reduced a velvet rumble, "…that behaviour negates any notion of 'Save a broom, Ride a Hooch.'"

Minerva would have laughed, had she been able to; as it was she gave him an arch, if amused look. But when he shifted her in his broad hands, a jolt of pain ran across her back and she gave a low hiss.

Stopping, he peered down at her, taking in her damp fur and hunched shoulders. Without any warning, he wordlessly hit her with a _Scourgify__, _and then a drying spell. Deftly, Snape ran a long finger down her spine, giving her tail a brief tug. His magic- dark, strong and fine as the rarest cacao- engulfed her, and with flare, the lingering pain all but disappeared.

"Ruddy Gryffindors," he said, tucking her into the warmth of his chest. "You'd be utterly lost without someone to always pull your paws out of the fire."

Discretion being the better part of valour, Minerva made no reply as he dropped her off at her rooms. _I'll leave him a veritable feast of rat parts as thanks, _she thought_. __And if he keeps silent about my role in all this, I won't even leave them in his bed…_

* * *

Three days later, the Head House Elf popped into her office as she was going over the school accounts.

"Pardons, Headmistress, but the Potions Master has requested an addition to the final staff meal," squeaked Tomphy, handing her the menu.

Reading Severus scrawled note, she smiled. The request was an entirely Slytherin method of revenge, but it would do quite nicely.

"Add it to the menu, Tomphy." With a smirk of her own, she wrote a note. "And one further adjustment, I think…"

* * *

"Well, the wee bugger's gone and done it now," Hagrid boomed as he lowered himself into a chair at the staff table.

"Who has done what?" Albus asked mildly, blue eyes annoyingly a-twinkle.

"Peeves," the man grunted. "Somewhere he found a couple of old anchors, and decided that it would be a grand idea to toss them at the Giant Squid. The Squid wasn't pleased, and I reckon we'll not be seeing ol' Peevie until August, at least."

From her place at the table, Minerva smiled. _Assuming that he doesn't anger the Merfolk, of course. Revenge, served cold…_

Golden plates appeared in front of the assembled staff, and everyone save her and Severus blinked in surprise.

"Trout?" Albus asked.

"I thought it would be nice to have something different," Minerva explained sweetly. "Severus, where did you say that you bought the fish?"

His expression was perfectly placid. "A farmer's market in Ealing."

Filius had gone bright red, and even Rolanda looked a touch queasy.

Albus chuckled, and started to dig in. "Isn't there a limerick along those lines..?"

"None of that vulgarity at the table, if you please," Poppy stated firmly. "Minerva, pass the cream, will you?"

"Of course," she replied. _Revenge, served hot…_


End file.
